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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455687">how do you suppose that we've survived</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie'>beanarie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Sails</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Death Fic, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post Finale, james is dead and his bfs are stuck with each other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:07:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,898</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455687</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What do two points of a triangle do when they've lost their apex?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton/John Silver, Thomas Hamilton/John Silver</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>how do you suppose that we've survived</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>a rakefire is a guest who's overstayed their welcome. this will become relevant in a minute.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Silver was away, so it isn't until after all is said and done that he returns, trudging into their cabin like he owns the place, which he does, partly, yet a discordant bell jangles in the distance. Thomas tells him, immediately, in short, blunt words, free of preamble or flowery condolences. </p><p>"That's very amusing," Silver deadpans. His sack falls to the ground with not a thud, not a crash, but some intrusively loud hydrid of the two. </p><p>"Is it?" Thomas asks. "Death smiles at us all, but all a man can do is smile back. The other men at the tavern said James smiled before he fell to the floor." </p><p>"<i>Hamilton</i>."</p><p>Thomas understands. His eyes are clear and dry. The sun sank below the horizon last evening and climbed back above it this morning. It feels incomprehensible, and yet, James is dead. Because of that incontrovertible and unchanging fact, he is without tolerance for this interplay. "<i>Silver</i>." </p><p>"No." A crack forms behind his eyes. "No. How are you so...?"</p><p>Thomas shrugs helplessly, emotion very recently buried in a shallow grave building up in his throat. "It's been two weeks. I had to come up for air at some point."</p><p>And now there's a note of outrage  mixed in with Silver's denial. "H-he-"</p><p>"Mourned <i>me</i> for eleven years. Yes, I'm aware. You can fuck yourself to death and descend directly to hell."</p><p>Breathing heavily, eyes wet, Silver drops onto the trunk in the hall, the crutch skittering several feet away. Thomas will have to retrieve that for him, or act as a crutch himself. Or watch him crawl. </p><p>"Two weeks."</p><p>"Thirteen days." Thomas should get him some water. It's quite warm today and Silver entered red-faced with sweat on his brow already. "The seventh. He went quietly, surprisingly for anyone who truly-" Knew him, Thomas almost said, but his lungs fail him all of a sudden. No one in the world knew James as the two men in this room did. No one ever will. </p><p>Silver makes an attempt to cover his face as he sobs. It muffles some of the sound, for some of the time. Thomas returns to his desk, to the essay he'd only just taken back out today in the hopes of making some infinitesimal measure of progress on it, if only one sentence, a word. Instead he buries his nose in the crook of his elbow and allows his fingertips to press into the back of his skull. No matter how tightly he winds his arms around his head, he can't block out the cries drifting from the hall.</p><p>An hour later, they come closer to blows than they ever have.</p><p>"No," Thomas says, pulling hard at Silver's elbow. If the man loses his footing because of Thomas's actions, he has only himself to blame. "You cursed rakefire, you will not <i>dig him up</i>."</p><p>Silver is unresponsive, without reason. Entirely mad, by all appearances. "You won't tell me?" he snarls, rather than ask again. He makes a move toward the door, grunting as his momentum is aborted by Thomas's grip. "I'll find it myself. I will till this entire wretched colony. Watch."</p><p>"And I will shoot you down like a feral animal. <i>Watch</i>." </p><p>Thrown, Silver's gaze locks on him for a moment, before sliding past him to the door and outward, to the place where he imagines he will find an unfortunate, rotting ginger with only a passing resemblance to their James.</p><p>"The man we love has earned his fucking rest and you will not desecrate that." As Silver remains frozen, Thomas moderates his tone. "I know, I <i>know</i> this is difficult. And I know that both you and James mourned someone who was never dead. But, John, this is madness. You must stop."</p><p>For a second, as he continues stroking his thumb in a small arc on the side of Silver's neck, he thinks Silver will drop his head onto Thomas's shoulder. </p><p>When the mist clears, Silver shakes him off and hobbles to the bedroom.</p><p><i>Leave him to it</i>, Thomas thinks. The decision is attached to a refreshing lack of guilt.</p><p>Thomas wakes confused to an all-encompassing silence. The first sound sleep he's had since Silver went voyaging two months ago is difficult to recognize. Without having the night broken up by jerking out of a doze at least a dozen times, he feels as though he only just allowed his eyes to close.</p><p>And then he hears it, the distinctive thunk of his companion in motion.<br/>
Eyes red and inflamed but dry, Silver  starts a bit as he enters the kitchen. "Bloody hell are you doing, laid out like that?"</p><p>"I am a fifty-six year old man with a spine easily twice as old. While I don't recall the line of thought that led to this decision, I shall be making it again in the future." Almost gladdened by the sudden, incongruent glimpse of normalcy, Thomas makes his way off of the kitchen table with a mildly apologetic duck of his head. He considers and discards the notion of asking if Silver slept. He considers the notion of asking about Silver's trip to the West Indies, and discards it. Silver won't care to recount the minutiae of the mission that prevented him from saying goodbye before they put James in the ground. Or would he? The fog in Thomas's heart prevents him from deciding, so he says nothing. </p><p>Dinner that night, the only attempted meal of the day, is late and under the stars. They don't speak and barely make eye contact, preferring to watch the fireflies wink in and out of existence at the edge of the forest. Silver takes in at most two bites of rabbit. Thomas, not much more than that, but he isn't paying nearly as much attention to his own actions.</p><p>Strangely, James doesn't visit his dreams until Silver's return. Afterward Thomas never retains  images or dialogue, just sadness. Loneliness to his very marrow. During daylight hours he gets odd impulses. While gathering eggs, he'll exit the chicken coop, eyes open and scanning for... something. Like that day in the cane fields, when he felt eyes on his back and turned to face a world that would change inexorably with a few steps forward and a crushing embrace. </p><p>"You're avoiding me," Silver says in the kitchen, more wounded than accusatory, and the lack of condemnation despite his words forces Thomas to reflect on his behavior. He has scarcely left the cabin and immediate surroundings, yet he has managed to place some manner of distance between them whenever Silver approaches.</p><p>"Huh," Thomas says. He begins to prepare an acknowledgement of his crime, words struggling to form the first of what should be several sentences. Silver simply nods and takes his leave, as though all he wanted was to elicit insight.</p><p>Thomas doesn't sleep well enough that night to block out Silver's crying. </p><p>They don't talk the next day, either. Or the next. Thomas continues gathering eggs with a wholly illogical sense of anticipation. Soon his steps drag, but that's normal. He's an old man doing manual labor under the summer sun, and he just suffered an irrevocable loss from which he may never recover. He still manages to wash up in the morning and roast something on a spit at night. Their needs are being met.</p><p>As before, he is in the kitchen, and Silver's unexpected hand on his cheek feels so deliciously cold that Thomas doesn't object or draw back. He just closes his eyes. When he reopens them, Silver looks puffed up and ready to punch him in the mouth. </p><p>"Are- are you <i>ill</i>?" </p><p><i>Oh</i>, Thomas thinks.</p><p>"Fucking fool. How long have you been hiding this?"</p><p>Unreasonable question. How could Thomas identify the point at which his physical self began feeling worse than his fractured heart?</p><p>A great deal of panicked manhandling later, Thomas is in their bed, a wet cloth on his forehead causing cool water to dribble down his nose. Silver has finally stopped swearing, probably because Thomas is too tired to continue asking to return to the kitchen table. </p><p>"Too many ghosts here, I know," Silver says, taking a dry cloth to his wet nose. The open gash in Thomas's chest aches as though from a continual sprinkle of salt water. "Take comfort in the fact that I will not allow you to be added to them. Not today." </p><p>Thomas closes his eyes to shut out the shadowy figure behind Silver, and is soon asleep.</p><p>The fever breaks for good after three days, during which time Silver took full advantage of the unoccupied kitchen. Thomas never developed much fondness for cooking, but Silver was a different story. He and James had had almost a competition in place, baffling to behold.</p><p>Silver narrows his eyes at the bowl of stewed vegetables, measuring the empty space to calculate whether Thomas has eaten enough. Thomas reaches out to steal his free hand, give it a grateful squeeze, and bring it to his lips. Silver withdraws like a deer in the wild. </p><p>"Are you concerned about contracting the fever?" Thomas asks, stung. "I am willing to wait to bestow a more affectionate form of gratitude."</p><p>"You needn't feel beholden." Silver retreats to the window.</p><p>"I did not use the word beholden," Thomas sits up straighter in the bed, "only gratitude. Are you not aware of the difference?"</p><p>"You called me a rakefire. Do you stand by <i>those</i> words?" </p><p>"I have never-"</p><p>"That first night, not terribly long after you told me about James."</p><p><i>Fuck</i>, thinks Thomas. <i>Did I?</i></p><p>"It didn't matter to me at first, if you resented my presence. He didn't, not really, and I apologize for my concern beginning and ending there. Selfishness is my wont."</p><p>"That was seven years ago." </p><p>"It was." John nods, staring hard out of the glass. "Your objections have been very well concealed. I used to fancy myself skilled at reading men, however..."</p><p>Thomas sighs very quietly. He is in no condition to have his words twisted and mutilated to drop into the oubliette that is Silver's version of reality. "If I were to lay myself bare," Thomas snaps, "This version of you could submit himself to the sea, never to return, and I should suffer very few regrets."</p><p>Silver nods to himself. </p><p>"So long as the rest remained in his absence."</p><p>Confusion taking over his features, Silver finally makes a quarter turn in his direction. "The rest of what?"</p><p>"The rest of <i>you</i>, you maddening irritation." Silver only blinks, and Thomas is no longer hearty enough to keep sitting upright in this bed they all shared for so long. "The devil whispers in your ear at times of turmoil, casting doubt on those who love you because he wants you to himself," Thomas says, sinking back beneath the blankets. "I would quite appreciate your refusing to entertain him from now on."</p><p>"Oh," Silver says, he, the pirate king who disarmed more with words than with his sword.</p><p>Thomas closes his eyes. "Lie with me. It's been long enough."</p><p>As he drifts off, he hears soft knock of the crutch being laid against the bed-frame and feels an arm take loosely possessive hold of his waist. The bed, the house, the world will always be too big for only the two of them, but they will have to endure nonetheless.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>months ago people were saying thomas and silver don't make any sense as a pairing and i decided i just HAD to fuck around and find out. by killing james.</p><p>sorry.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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